Sacrifice
Title: Sacrifice
Fandom: Hellblazer
Pairing: John/Chas
Word Count: 1628
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellblazer or either of these characters.
Author's Note: This one is for voksen.
There are times in every bloke's life when he needs the help of his mates. Lucky for me that I've never been the type who's too proud to ask for help when he needs it, especially as I've needed it more often than most and had to ask odder favors. I'd prefer it if it usually worked out better for those I asked, but I'm not one to quibble at necessity either; wasn't like I came out of it all smelling like a rose either.
But if I'd had more of a choice, I wouldn't have called Chas in on this one. He was probably the most reliable bloke I knew, but that was all the more reason to pick someone else, someone I could spare if things went to shit. But mates were thin on the ground these days and this wasn't something I could use just anyone for, so Chas it was.
He had the usual look on his face when he showed up at the door to my flat: an expression combining concern with a prissy sort of anxiety. Typical Chas - always complaining like an old woman about me using him, echoing someone else's words as though he really believed them. Bollocks. The truth was that he liked it: liked feeling needed, liked being on the edge of things that felt important and maybe dangerous without being in danger himself. Lucky for him that I was wise to his act; otherwise I might have pissed off and found some other sucker long ago.
“What's this about, John?” He peered over my shoulder, staring around my flat as though he'd never seen it before. He had, but I didn't have people over often, not even him. Better, safer, to meet at the pub, somewhere with the comfort of a crowd. Less mess to clean up after, too.
He'd asked me a question, but I ignored it. That wasn't anything new; I ignored about half the things Chas asked me. Usually either he was better off not knowing or I couldn't be arsed to answer. This time, it was mostly the former. It was hard for him to ask questions when I was kissing him, anyway, slipping my tongue in his mouth when he opened it to protest.
Chas didn't relax or kiss me back, but I hadn't expected him to, not at first. It took him a long moment to push me away and that was good enough in my books, proof that I still knew how to kiss.
“What are you doing? You know I don't -” He was sputtering now, in full heterosexual panic.
I gave him my best serious look even though I wanted to smirk, pushing away the need for a smoke solely because I didn't intend to talk that long. “Told you on the phone that I needed you for something.”
“So go find someone else!” Chas waved his hands, gestures wide enough that he hit one hand on the wall. He didn't seem to register the impact, too caught up in his protests. “Go to the pub and pick someone up! Not me!”
I shook my head. “Can't.” I didn't pause to explain, even if the implications of that single word pricked my pride. So did this whole mess and I didn't want to give Chas time to think. I pressed against him for another kiss, giving him the choice of pushing me away again and leaving, or staying, giving into urges he'd had for twenty years, even offering him the flimsy excuse of helping me out as he had so many times.
No mystery which he'd choose. Who knew how long it had even been for the poor bastard? He wasn't so desperate as to help me unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, but I wasn't so far gone I couldn't manage that. Dead sober, even, much as I regretted it.
Chas tasted familiar, his dick faintly redolent of seat leather and sweat, like the inside of the cab I'd been in more times than I could count. He had his eyes closed now and a hand over them as though that still wasn't enough to block the knowledge of who was sucking his prick. Probably wasn't; Renee couldn't do it so well, though neither of us was usually suicidal enough to tell her that. I could have insisted he look at me, but didn't push it. I'd been pushing things my whole bloody life, but it would be too easy to make him run and I couldn't have that.
I could have taken less time, been more perfunctory about it. I didn't have to use my tongue, didn't have to hum around him and squeeze his balls, definitely didn't have to slide a careful, lubed finger into his ass, just probing to see if he'd let me. But for all I'm a bastard, I'm a considerate bastard, at least in some things. And I had a reputation to protect; couldn't have anyone, not even Chas, who didn't have much to compare it with, thinking I was bad in the sack.
He didn't even notice the candles; the charcoal on the floor and the scent of recent magic hanging in the air like stale booze after a bender passed Chas by completely as I led him to the bedroom, pants left by the door in a forgotten heap. His eyes were all for my unmade bed and his hands were all over me finally, fumbling like a teenager who hadn't a clue what the fuck he was doing. Probably didn't, but that didn't matter. At least he'd abandoned his reticence, was actually touching me. I knew I couldn't imagine what mental contortions it took, what bargains he'd made with himself to be in my bed now instead of running back to his wife, and I was glad I couldn't. I didn't want to know; there's some things best left a mystery.
I didn't give either of us too much time to think, nearly falling on the bed beside him, kissing and touching with the enthusiasm of the younger man I'd been when we'd met. Plenty of time for regret later; we both knew that far too well to waste time on it now.
I wanted to fuck him, but wasn't sure if he'd let me. One finger was one thing; everyone did that now. When he tensed at a second, I was willing to let it go. Plenty of other ways to get off. But Chas looked up at me, panting, and shook his head when I tried to pull them out. “If you're going to do it, do it right.” Maybe he was getting adventurous after so many years of married life, or maybe he was just being his usual stubborn self, hard to get going but a bitch to shake after. Maybe he just wanted to know what he'd been missing.
So I kept going, taking more time than I wanted stretching and preparing. I knew he'd never done this before and probably never would again; best to make it good for him, something worth remembering since we were too damn sober to forget. I only glanced at his eyes once and wished I hadn't. That bloody expression - something like wonder or maybe even awe, something that made me feel like an arsehole just for seeing it. Maybe it was just that someone wanted him, or that it was me who was about to fuck him after so many years when he'd never let himself think about wanting it. No bloke should look at someone with that kind of trust and especially not at me; too bloody private to share and I always bollocks things up anyhow.
I looked away, concentrated on what I was doing, looking at him but not directly, eyes sliding right past. And then I was inside and he was virgin-tight, hot and grunting and protesting, eyes squeezed shut instead of staring and it was safe again.
Fucking was about like it always was with someone new: all sweat and awkwardness only made worth it by the moment when we finally got it right, bodies suddenly moving in sync and every move sweet, perfect in a way nothing else is. And then that's gone and it's panting and frantic thrusting, clawing at sheets and racing for something just out of reach.
Then it was over, sooner than I wanted it to be. I knew what came next; I wasn't surprised that Chas didn't quite look at me as he stood, legs shaking, and headed for my bathroom. He hadn't said anything, not a word since we'd finished, though he'd been urging me on there at the end. He hadn't told me not to ask him for any more favors, but we both knew things could never be the same between us.
But that was the whole bloody point, wasn't it? The whole reason it had to be Chas. Just the sex wasn't enough; I had to give up something I really valued, trash one of the good things left in my life. I'd known what I was doing, but I was surprised at how lonely I felt when he'd gone, hand shaking as I reached for the pack of Silk Cuts beside the bed. Always hard to lose a good mate, even when you deserved it. Maybe especially then.
I took my time lighting up and took a long drag before I looked up. I was still naked, but I didn't give a damn, just stared straight at the demon Chas had never seen watching us with a smirk that said I was a cold bastard who didn't care what he'd just pissed away. “There's your bloody sacrifice, wanker. Now it's my turn.”
Fandom: Hellblazer
Pairing: John/Chas
Word Count: 1628
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellblazer or either of these characters.
Author's Note: This one is for voksen.
There are times in every bloke's life when he needs the help of his mates. Lucky for me that I've never been the type who's too proud to ask for help when he needs it, especially as I've needed it more often than most and had to ask odder favors. I'd prefer it if it usually worked out better for those I asked, but I'm not one to quibble at necessity either; wasn't like I came out of it all smelling like a rose either.
But if I'd had more of a choice, I wouldn't have called Chas in on this one. He was probably the most reliable bloke I knew, but that was all the more reason to pick someone else, someone I could spare if things went to shit. But mates were thin on the ground these days and this wasn't something I could use just anyone for, so Chas it was.
He had the usual look on his face when he showed up at the door to my flat: an expression combining concern with a prissy sort of anxiety. Typical Chas - always complaining like an old woman about me using him, echoing someone else's words as though he really believed them. Bollocks. The truth was that he liked it: liked feeling needed, liked being on the edge of things that felt important and maybe dangerous without being in danger himself. Lucky for him that I was wise to his act; otherwise I might have pissed off and found some other sucker long ago.
“What's this about, John?” He peered over my shoulder, staring around my flat as though he'd never seen it before. He had, but I didn't have people over often, not even him. Better, safer, to meet at the pub, somewhere with the comfort of a crowd. Less mess to clean up after, too.
He'd asked me a question, but I ignored it. That wasn't anything new; I ignored about half the things Chas asked me. Usually either he was better off not knowing or I couldn't be arsed to answer. This time, it was mostly the former. It was hard for him to ask questions when I was kissing him, anyway, slipping my tongue in his mouth when he opened it to protest.
Chas didn't relax or kiss me back, but I hadn't expected him to, not at first. It took him a long moment to push me away and that was good enough in my books, proof that I still knew how to kiss.
“What are you doing? You know I don't -” He was sputtering now, in full heterosexual panic.
I gave him my best serious look even though I wanted to smirk, pushing away the need for a smoke solely because I didn't intend to talk that long. “Told you on the phone that I needed you for something.”
“So go find someone else!” Chas waved his hands, gestures wide enough that he hit one hand on the wall. He didn't seem to register the impact, too caught up in his protests. “Go to the pub and pick someone up! Not me!”
I shook my head. “Can't.” I didn't pause to explain, even if the implications of that single word pricked my pride. So did this whole mess and I didn't want to give Chas time to think. I pressed against him for another kiss, giving him the choice of pushing me away again and leaving, or staying, giving into urges he'd had for twenty years, even offering him the flimsy excuse of helping me out as he had so many times.
No mystery which he'd choose. Who knew how long it had even been for the poor bastard? He wasn't so desperate as to help me unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, but I wasn't so far gone I couldn't manage that. Dead sober, even, much as I regretted it.
Chas tasted familiar, his dick faintly redolent of seat leather and sweat, like the inside of the cab I'd been in more times than I could count. He had his eyes closed now and a hand over them as though that still wasn't enough to block the knowledge of who was sucking his prick. Probably wasn't; Renee couldn't do it so well, though neither of us was usually suicidal enough to tell her that. I could have insisted he look at me, but didn't push it. I'd been pushing things my whole bloody life, but it would be too easy to make him run and I couldn't have that.
I could have taken less time, been more perfunctory about it. I didn't have to use my tongue, didn't have to hum around him and squeeze his balls, definitely didn't have to slide a careful, lubed finger into his ass, just probing to see if he'd let me. But for all I'm a bastard, I'm a considerate bastard, at least in some things. And I had a reputation to protect; couldn't have anyone, not even Chas, who didn't have much to compare it with, thinking I was bad in the sack.
He didn't even notice the candles; the charcoal on the floor and the scent of recent magic hanging in the air like stale booze after a bender passed Chas by completely as I led him to the bedroom, pants left by the door in a forgotten heap. His eyes were all for my unmade bed and his hands were all over me finally, fumbling like a teenager who hadn't a clue what the fuck he was doing. Probably didn't, but that didn't matter. At least he'd abandoned his reticence, was actually touching me. I knew I couldn't imagine what mental contortions it took, what bargains he'd made with himself to be in my bed now instead of running back to his wife, and I was glad I couldn't. I didn't want to know; there's some things best left a mystery.
I didn't give either of us too much time to think, nearly falling on the bed beside him, kissing and touching with the enthusiasm of the younger man I'd been when we'd met. Plenty of time for regret later; we both knew that far too well to waste time on it now.
I wanted to fuck him, but wasn't sure if he'd let me. One finger was one thing; everyone did that now. When he tensed at a second, I was willing to let it go. Plenty of other ways to get off. But Chas looked up at me, panting, and shook his head when I tried to pull them out. “If you're going to do it, do it right.” Maybe he was getting adventurous after so many years of married life, or maybe he was just being his usual stubborn self, hard to get going but a bitch to shake after. Maybe he just wanted to know what he'd been missing.
So I kept going, taking more time than I wanted stretching and preparing. I knew he'd never done this before and probably never would again; best to make it good for him, something worth remembering since we were too damn sober to forget. I only glanced at his eyes once and wished I hadn't. That bloody expression - something like wonder or maybe even awe, something that made me feel like an arsehole just for seeing it. Maybe it was just that someone wanted him, or that it was me who was about to fuck him after so many years when he'd never let himself think about wanting it. No bloke should look at someone with that kind of trust and especially not at me; too bloody private to share and I always bollocks things up anyhow.
I looked away, concentrated on what I was doing, looking at him but not directly, eyes sliding right past. And then I was inside and he was virgin-tight, hot and grunting and protesting, eyes squeezed shut instead of staring and it was safe again.
Fucking was about like it always was with someone new: all sweat and awkwardness only made worth it by the moment when we finally got it right, bodies suddenly moving in sync and every move sweet, perfect in a way nothing else is. And then that's gone and it's panting and frantic thrusting, clawing at sheets and racing for something just out of reach.
Then it was over, sooner than I wanted it to be. I knew what came next; I wasn't surprised that Chas didn't quite look at me as he stood, legs shaking, and headed for my bathroom. He hadn't said anything, not a word since we'd finished, though he'd been urging me on there at the end. He hadn't told me not to ask him for any more favors, but we both knew things could never be the same between us.
But that was the whole bloody point, wasn't it? The whole reason it had to be Chas. Just the sex wasn't enough; I had to give up something I really valued, trash one of the good things left in my life. I'd known what I was doing, but I was surprised at how lonely I felt when he'd gone, hand shaking as I reached for the pack of Silk Cuts beside the bed. Always hard to lose a good mate, even when you deserved it. Maybe especially then.
I took my time lighting up and took a long drag before I looked up. I was still naked, but I didn't give a damn, just stared straight at the demon Chas had never seen watching us with a smirk that said I was a cold bastard who didn't care what he'd just pissed away. “There's your bloody sacrifice, wanker. Now it's my turn.”